I am Batman

The gravitational pull on my motivation to stop at the gym after a long day of work or scrape out of bed at thirty past "Oh my gosh it's early!" has very little to do with physical fitness. (Even though it's nice when the ole wife says I'm getting my David Beckham look on). As noted in earlier post, my motivation is the performance of exercise task that Jaron conjures up in his mad genius skull. With this blog providing the only real intrinsic reward needed to continue the journey. Jaron ask for no payment from me and I ask that he not change his mind. We both love to use this medium as a way to share our decade old ramblings of two wilded-eyed muses. It's our narcissistic bull horn volleys in the digital town square. Working out is just a cover to keep the CIA off our tails as the third world audience is trending toward cult following.

See people, Jaron and I are attached at hip by text message... Once we were enjoying our favorite debauchery of Sushi on Trop, when I caught myself crafting a text because I felt it played out better on the 3" Blackberry screen than in person. During Running Rebel season, our output quadruples. So much so, rumor has it AT&T is considering creating a plus 35 age group for the international speed texting competition. 

I love hypertrophy phase; with the :60 seconds of rest between reps and short sets. Jaron can get up to the minute, real time status of my efforts. This past week I was having trouble with overcrowding at the gym (pre-New Year's resolution hacks getting in the way), so Jaron gave me an alternative on the fly. Mucho appreciated! He is my side kick. Jaron is my Robin. That is, if Bruce Wayne was a near middle-aged, poorly funded southern expatriate father of three. Then I am Batman.   

Challenge: Spartan 300 Workout

Merry Christmas to our new readers from Côte d’Ivoire and Afghanistan. Elf civil wars and Mrs. Clause in a burqa this Noel.

As part of our series of challenges, Jaron laid down a monster on this poor southern man's shoulders; the 300 Spartan Workout.

25 pull-ups
50 dead lifts (135 lbs)
50 push-ups
50 24" box jumps
50 floor wipers (135 lbs pressed)
50 Kettle bell clean and press (25 reps per arm with 36 pounds)
25 pull-ups
300 reps

One last fold... It was timed.

I am formally submitting papers to have it rebranded as the 300 Feet From Hell Workout. Imagine a Rude Goldberg machine set up in the spare bedroom of the fifth horseman of the apocalypse condo.

In all reality the only way to prepare for this challenge is to lose a ton of weight, exercise for months, and put on your big boy pants. All of which I did. However, I would've been fed to the lions if King Leonidas had been there on Christmas Eve. Jaron's personal best hovered around the sub-nineteen minute mark. As a solid mentor, Jaron laid forth a mark of twenty-five minutes. For the math whiz kids following along in our new World of Warcraft chat room, that is one rep every five seconds.

Well boys and girls, I finished the challenge. But if I had been running a race, I would've been the guy the audience gives a mercy clap; completing the marathon two hours behind the rest of the field. Crawling across the finish line, full body trimmers, and total loss of all bodily humility. The stop watch read with cold cruel honesty... 33:20. If I had been a sitcom, the network would've required two commercial breaks and a "To Be Continued." That was just the workout. There were two days of muscle and soul soreness. At one point on Christmas morning my bed sheets felt like iron shrouds. 

As challenges go, I failed. As egos go, I mourned. As good friend goes, Jaron does not have to return my Man Card. As  the rules go, I will continue to enjoy listening to Running Rebel basketball games on AM 1100 on Novalee's radio. Second attempt at the sub-twenty-five minute 300 Spartan Workout will happen on my 37th birthday, February 15th.  

    

Fragile Constitution of a Former Fat Guy

During Destination 195 Jaron structured my diet program to have one "reward" meal each week. A meal that could have 500 additional calories to the 500-600 allotted. Over the seventeen weeks of the challenge, I only took one higher calorie dinner, but it was not a reward. The family attended a house party where the only food offerings made dive bar food look nutritious. The reward concept actually concerned me during the challenge because untethering myself from high calorie albatross would proved to be far greater of an advisory than any workout Jaron lined out for me. Not to mention the mental defragging required to end the ole pantry grazing ritual, passing the evening hours one bite size at a time. Daddy daycare can require a great deal of comfort food! So it was not until the goal weight had been reached that I dared to celebrate with a reward meal... Not a wise move after four months of eating healthy.

The wife and I decided to take the kids to a wonderful outdoor Christmas pageant in our old neighborhood. Even though Las Vegas is one massive suburban orb with a vein of Sodom and Gomorrah running through the middle, we Lost Vegans are slaves to convenience. Heck, the valley is only 40 miles tip to stern, but traveling to the south side is likened to taking a trip to California. We were not about to squander our mini-Griswold staycation; off to our favorite pizza haunt, Nikki Lee's. Two pieces of greasy cheese pie and two colon killing loaded potato skins later, this former fat guy entered a confused state of nirvana and irritable bowel remorse.

After downloading the weeks results with Jaron, I mentioned in passing the "bastard on Father's Day" paradox from the recent reward meal. His all to experienced wisdom (via text message) gave me wonderful perspective:

Me: I had my first real reward meal. Nearly puked... Certain things need to stay in the past.
Jaron: Amen. Still love me some greasy pizza thought!
Me: 2 pieces of pizza and 2 potato skins... Nearly lost it on the ride home.
Jaron: Your constitution can't handle the fat.

My brother from another mother could not be any closer to the truth! My dietary constitution is as fragile as a having an AA convention in Las Vegas on "open bar night." No one likes a quitter.

The Chicken-Legged Legionary

Now that the body weight is down to a manageable mark, the fun begins... Hypertrophy. I'm not a Latin scholar, but I believe hypertrophy translate to "high probability of hernia." Low reps, heavy weight. Ta-dow!

This past week I spent the day job hours in Salt Lake City. Jaron invited me to his gym so we could go through all three days of scheduled workouts; chest & triceps, legs & core, and back & biceps. Thank goodness Krause was there to spot my five reps of  five with 160 pounds on bench press bar. His official training gear helped run interference on the gender neutral she-males giving the stink eye. Vera de Milo two benches down shot me the look with a carton bubble that read; "Man up... or join the jazzercizing water buffaloes in the pool."

In retrospect, chest day did not result in major bodily convulsions. Then came day two of my Wasatch Range business trip, ending with a leg smack down. The formal introduction to a big boy leg workout. Hack squats followed by a brutal death mark of walking lunges, and some extra lactic acid gravy with a final set of leg curls. The technical verbiage for walking lunges is, functional isometric. Basically it is keeping the muscles engaged through the entire set, with no rest or relief for twenty lunges across the gym. This lovely little nugget is a 48-hour grenade; pull the pin with the workout, two days later... BOOM! If it was socially unacceptable to wear adult diapers in one's thirties, I might need a Costco ten pack in sky blue. So, until the standing loo is installed in our house, my poor wife and kids will have to manage REM sleep while I scream louder than a 1980's horror flick chick attempting to lower upon the porcelain throne of manhood, which of late has become a midnight iron maiden.

And the road toward the goal of dunking a basketball begins with this guy struggling to hop over my broken ego strewn about the gym floor.

Final week: Destination 195

Sometimes the best motivation to avoid failure is getting the reward before a competition is over. That, and the fact Jaron would actually make me pay him back with interest and a tax for making a fool of myself in front of the Russians and bringing dishonor to the Marlow name. Even though court side tickets for a Running Rebel smack down were great; finishing this damn challenge was even better.

Even thought my math was a tad shaky in the early days, Destination 195 is over and the scales don't lie... In seventeen weeks the Jarvis blubber vessel shed 38.5 pounds of fat guy insulation. It all came down to two weeks of carb cycle, stair climbing the Sears Tower (twice in one week), and raisin shrivelling sauna trips.

After four months that required me to give up comfort food and consuming less daily calories than an anorexic having a fat day, the initial phase of "stretching the rubber band" has got me to the starting point. Next week I start some sadistic phase called "hypertrophy." A phase that Jaron has mentioned numerous times through this journey, but has only given me a little preview of the fun to follow. 

Back on July 10th Jaron dropped some major revelations into my world. He outlined the key problems with western civilizations pursuit of weight loss. Me included. As we sat outside of his Sandy, Utah house sharing current life events, I was amazed at his stories of American's piss poor personal fitness. I am the lemming, where is the cliff. 193 is only the starting line to getting to the destination. The work begins once the weight is taken off. So existential, yet so teeth bashingly new.

See, old Jaron and I have known each other on the lesser side of two decades. We swam for the Rebels in the mid-90s, then lived together from 1999 until 2002 in what was commonly know as The House of Pain III. And in no way were we mistaken for two motivated former collegiate athletes during our days as roomies. Our preferred workouts consisted of 12 oz weight classes offered by Miller, and heart pumping Tony Hawk Pro-Skater II cardio, which we actually played for a straight twelve hours one Saturday. Because of a well executed gag order and potential long term psychiatric visit, I will not go into much detail of the dueling hacky-sack work outs. A career we nearly launch once our Y2K predictions did not materialize. We had a Starsky and Hutch kinda thing going there for a while.

After he moved out of state we would reconnect every spring around March Madness. In 2004 he set if off! In full Fat Krause greatness he rolled to a party in a pimp hat and 1970s Elvis shades. Man I loved the Fat Krause. Then two years later Jaron drops into Vegas looking tight as a drum. The freaking guy lost something like four score in a matter of a few months. But the motivation was simply priceless 

During our July 10th life changing talk, he told me about his decision to get in shape was 100% vanity driven. In 2006, Jaron was heading to the Cook Islands for a wedding and he had this image of a great white whale on the beach of fine ladies and chiseled Aussies a. Some dudes don't want to be the oldest guy at the club; Jaron didn't want to be the fattest white guy on the beach. Sometimes vanity is the greatest motivator. I'd be a liar if vanity did not play a major role in Destination 195.

A near excessive pride in busting my butt every week was not matched by the love of returning to this blog to report my progress. It has became a simple souvenir of my friendship with Jaron. We are like two comedians standing on a stage trying to crack each other up; not caring if anyone is actually in attendance to hear the insanity coming forth (if only our text message accounts could talk... actually that would be a phone call... either way, I digress). So I have decided to keep No Fat Jokes Please going. Jaron is committed to continue to feed me workouts and challenges, while I swear to hit the gym, pool, road, Stair Master, etc. If he says jump, I am the lemming! 

We hope you will continue to come along for the ride, there are going to be some major hilarity on the way. Just wait until I begin my quest to slam dunk before I am 38 (I'll be 37 in February). And if you don't read anymore, no sweat, Krause and I bought our tickets, going to take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what we had in mind, well...maybe chalk it off to forced conscious expansion: tune in, freak out, get beaten. 

Final weigh in: 193.3
Lbs dropped since last weigh-in: 5
Total pounds dropped: 38.5
To hit 195: None... Do the math!
Weeks to go: 0

Week Sixteen: Challenge #3... "20! Valley of Death"

In college we had this little trash talking teammate that always found ways to bust our chops, usually at the amusement of all the other swimmers. The one time we turned it on him was around the restaurant table. This guy would always over order! Mom would say; "Your eyes were bigger than your stomach." Today, Jaron and I nearly over ordered off the menu of challenges.

As mentioned over the past couple of weeks, Jaron scheduled a travel to Vegas this weekend for numerous reasons: to reward me with two UNLV basketball games, contribute to the local gaming economy, lose a few liver cells, and to join me on challenge #3 "20! Push Ups - The Valley of Death" edition. Since my Russian followers have vastly improved upon their 80 years of communism, the box of Little Debbie snack cakes will be held for a future prize. The total number of push ups Jaron and I did... 420.

In all honesty, Jaron had talked up the pain points of this challenge enough that I had mentally and physically prepared for the :45 minutes of escalating misery. Like traveling rim to valley floor, going from 20, 19, 18, 17... 1 was actually easy. But those crazy hippie dirt people at the base of the Valley of Death must have stored a baby grand piano half way up the south rim. This is same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson Family! At 13 or 14 that darn Steinway dropped on my shoulder blades. The last 40 push ups were in a fog. My arms twitched like a plate of spaghetti on "bring your own epileptic to work" day at the Oliver Garden. Completion had all the trappings of near death teenage stunts; nervous sweat, colorful metaphors, and the customary "Don't tell mom!"

December 24, 2012, Challenge #4: 300 Workout
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggiYjRelWgc&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Weekly weigh in: 198.5
Lbs dropped since last weigh-in: 4
Total pounds dropped: 33.5
To hit 195: 2.6
Weeks to go: 1

Country Club for Sanity's Fringe

One of the interesting functions provided by my blog service is  country by country statistics. Jaron and I are thankful for all of the fans following our journey and reading the weekly progress reports. We love that the 51st state up north is representing really well... Go Doug Wake... C-eh. N-eh. D-eh, all day, every day! However, this week Sarah Palin's neighbors over the Bering Strait over took second spot of readership. To all my new Russian followers...  добро пожаловать Ни в какие Жирные Шутки Пожалуйста. I am really sorry about the constant replay of the original Red Dawn on Spike; but who doesn't love Patrick Swayz, Jennifer Grey, and Charlie Sheen as Wyoming freedom fighters.

This entry may read slightly disjointed to people who are currently enjoying the life giving force known as carbohydrates. However, those fellow carbohydrate amputees, this will read like doctrine. Yesterday afternoon I received the following series of text from the mad genius.

JBK "Gonna send you a tweak (overhaul) of the current nutrition plan. Hope you like chicken/ground turkey."
JT "Love it"
JBK "I'll have you 'carb cycle'  for the final 2 weeks. Gonna be rough days ahead!"

When I first read the text "carb cycle," it conjured up visions of Nilla Wafers Frisbee flying into my pie hole like alien space saucers while sucking down Cherry Punch Halfpipe Fruit Chillers faster than the family assembly line could open them for papa. I could not have been any more wrong.

Lets just say this, Jaron's planned "high carb days" compared to my old life (circa July) wouldn't even make it past the EASY OPEN PULL TAB on the family size Double Stuf Oreo pack. Today's mid afternoon nap was plagued by a dream of me pacing through the grocery store isles screaming at Little Debbie for her oatmeal cookie version of foie gras. If the rent-a-cop had not fish eyed me on my way to the bakery, I might have embarrassed my posterity by paying the nice cookie lady to eat a snickerdootle and describe the taste. AND IT IS ONLY THE FIRST DAY!!!... the first day in the carb cycle of doom.

On a bright note in this symphony of misery; I have dropped 30 grape fruits so far. Half dozen to go! This Thanksgiving will be the 10th installment of The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner, which will be the only material substance for yours truly. As I munch on string cheese, green peppers and chicken, I hope my family enjoys their stuffing and pies. It would be great if NicoDerm CQ launched a carbohydrate patch in the next few hours.

DAMN YOU LITTLE DEBBIE AND YOUR SWEET CREAMY FILLING!!!

P.S. Pray for Jaron and I this coming Saturday morning. We are rocking out challenge #3; "20! Push ups: The Valley of Death" (Google fractional and then double the insanity). A free box of Swiss Cake Rolls for the first person, other than Jaron, who can tell me how many push ups that will be.

Week Fifteen: Calamari and Cardio

One of the major changes to phase four of my program, Jaron added a fifth day of pure cardio that needed to be around :45 to :60 minutes. As previously mentioned last week, twenty minutes on the tread mill boarders on torture -- so doubling or tripling the time just about crushed me mentally. It was an easy decision to leave the climate controlled safety of Gold's Gym to hit the open sidewalks of north North Las Vegas.

I have a little running back ground to work from. Back in 2008, a previous company sponsored some of its reps to run in the Red Rock Marathon. There was no way I could complete the whole 26.2; I opted for the half. To prepare for the race my training consisted of four months of neighborhood running. So when Jaron threw out the extra long cardio day I just went back to my half marathon prep. The first run went really well, just a simple two laps around the two mile perimeter of my neighborhood. However this week's cardio day followed a work lunch that included fried calamari for an appetizer. BAD IDEA!

Those sneaky little bastards waited until I was at the furthest distance from the casa to drop a massive gut bomb on me. Imagine having to throw up in a crowded mall with all the trash cans strategically located at another mall, in another city. Don't worry, I am not the puking type of guy... the last and only time I lost my lunch was in college after eating a crappy burrito with a chaser of crappier vodka. This time it was more of the horrible walk of shame having to wear the mask of agony. Dry heaves are worse than 3-D burps. If it was not socially frowned upon, I nearly flagged down the elementary school bus to hick a ride back to the gate.

Man, I was really worried one of the talkative retirees would see me zombie footing it down the street. Hindsight being void of near projectile vomit, I would've ignored a burning house and any tortured pleas, for the safety of my downstairs bathroom. Now that my gut is back to iron clad status, it might have benefited me to upchuck a bit since my stats this week dropped a big goose egg.

Weekly weigh in: 202.5
Lbs dropped since last weigh-in: 0
Total pounds dropped: 29.5
To hit 195: 7.5
Weeks to go: 2

Week Fourteen: A Creature of Habit?

When Jaron lined out my eating program there was less meat on the bone than a bulimic Ethiopian. It actually worried me. Weight lifting I can do, 5000 yard swims I can handle, and extra cardio... no problem. But I have issue with stagnation in my food selection. Even though my dear friend Kansas City Marty states that I lean toward the "food as fuel" camp, it is hard for me to eat the same thing every day. Don't get me wrong, Groundhog Day is in my Top 5 of the 1990's, but I would drive my local Subway manager off the cliff if my diet was the same, day in and day out. Don't drive angry!  

With all my complaining and whining, there is a part of me that enjoys pre-selected menus across the business week. To manage the caloric intake, having two or three options for breakfast and maybe five to seven for lunch and dinner has been fine with me during this period of resetting my internal set point. Once Jaron moves me to a maintenance program next spring, my diet will be less about an exact science, and more about controlling portion sizes with healthy alternatives.

In addition to the dietary regiment, I really enjoy the muscle memory of the gym. Being able to walk into a place that was once a road block my work life and relaxation pursuits. Now it is a decent environment that cultivates change and peace of mind. It is also good for the transition from structured work life to the the chaotic whimsy of home life. All I need is the clothing and running shoes and my body seems to go into a solid mode of "point A, to point B" mentality.

Even though the treadmill can be similar to a daily Chinese water torture; it can also provide a complete mental break from life. Its getting to the point where I can mentally track my progress for the entire twenty minutes, able to guess my time within a few seconds each run. It is comparable to when two guys hacky sack for months on end... their feet become extensions of their hands. For the past decade I have never let a cell phone hit the ground or one of our kids crash to the floor without a quick foot shooting out to soften the impact. This is the nature of a true creature of habit!

P.S.
The freaking circuit Jaron has me on during this phase is going to be the death of me. Burpees followed by push ups is the equivalent to switching grandpa's high blood pressure pills with the new 5-Hour Energy Drink in powder form and then yelling fire during his afternoon nap. I never knew my heart rate could get to 300 bpm and still be sober as a preacher on Sunday.

Weekly weigh in: 202.5
Lbs dropped since last weigh-in: 1.5
Total pounds dropped: 29.5
To hit 195: 9
Weeks to go: 3

Week Thirteen: Bite sized temptation

I swear Halloween was invented by satanic capitalist oompa loompas. They planted this faux celebration into colonial Europe out of revenge for the Dutch closing their boarders to them during the great Wangdoodle migration of 1752... Don't get me started on the theory that Willy Wonka is the straight man for the evil empire of short tanned foot soldiers preparing for a midget revolution. Yet I digress. 

Halloween has become the second largest grossing U.S. "holiday" behind the three month long Christmas season. Have you noticed that adults have hijacked this evening from the kiddies? What once was a night of sugar over dose for junior, has now turned into a festival of middle class sleaze. Halloween became lame for yours truly about the time my parents stopped letting me order off the kids menu at Bob's Big Boy.

We get it! You unhappy house wives desire deep down to be naughty librarian strippers! I'm not going to deny, its awesome watching grown adults in the uniform of their Id sashaying down the milk isle of Wal-Mart looking all trashy. The one day on the lap around the Sun that it is acceptable to wear devil horns and Lederhosen at the PTA meeting, I'm screaming "Roll play!"

As a parent, I still enjoy the time with kids as we go around the neighborhood snooping from door to door picking up pounds of bite sized temptation. Halloween is no different from the other days of this journey, as certain food vices float to the top others are mere background noise to the new diet plan.

I am cool with abstaining from Sneakers, Twix, Milky Way, and even 100 Grands... but for get about it when the little old Asian lady with all the cats drops a handful of Tootsie Rolls into the bucket. Just take a moment in your mind's eye to imagine me in the middle of the street, not caring a bit that all the soccer moms in their club attire were frowning at my behavior, as I'm rifling through each child's bucket for those sweet chewy chocolate goodness. If house wives can dress like a Hunger Games street walker for one night, then I can lose my willpower in front of the entire neighborhood.

Oh yeah... It is the end of week thirteen and the start of two weeks of hellish circuits. By the way, lunges are the death of me. Go Rebels!

Weekly weigh in: 204.0
Lbs dropped since last weigh-in: 2.8
Total pounds dropped: 28
To hit 195: 9
Weeks to go: 4

Visiting the Dirty South on a diet

Last week my company hosted the annual national sales conference outside of our Atlanta based corporate head quarters. Hotlanta. The ATL. Dirty South! Typically going back to the South, my mother land, is like giving Adam Richman and Takeru Kobayashi tape worms and then daring them to an all night buffet bender. My southern food vice comes in little white boxes, steam cooked, and served with a pickle and mustard. If I'm within a 20 mile radius of a Krystals restaurant there is few things on a long list of possible distractions that could keep me from ordering ten to fifteen of those luscious little squares of steamed meet and rehydrated onions... It might not be divine intervention, but I feel strong that living 1500 miles from the closest Krystals may have kept me from eating myself into the grave.

So I am not exaggerating when I say there was a serious fear of falling off the wagon with a feed bag full of soul food and Krystal boxes in my pockets. These conferences are all day butt-numbing meetings, with food breaks as frequent as the watered down management cliche's. However, I should have feared the travel workout Krause packed in my carry-on more than anything on the menu. With a fitness center that lacked all things fitness, his work out offset the buffets of gluttony. Being a newly skinny man with a fragile fat guy inside, a sales conference with three hots and a cot to veg out on, and the aforementioned snack breaks, this trip looked like a disaster on paper.

The circuit was very simple; :45 seconds on, :20 seconds rest. He said to do push ups, lunges, burpies, and mountain climbers. I was shocked at how mentally tough it can be to do push ups on a timer. The killer came at the end of each round with the heart rate elevated by constants burpies and then a quick switch to jello arm producing mountain climbers. I didn't know that your ear drums could leach sweat and brain gravy at the same time. The 20 minute run at the end of the work out was the only time I got to rest. Freaking Krause is good in such an evil mastermind kind of way!

Week Twelve: Getting sidetracked is a fallacy

As an avid journal writer and personal historian, I look for seminal moments in life. For my personal fitness life, finishing competitive swimming marked the end of my youth experience and the beginning of adulthood. My last competitive swim meet was in 1998 US Nationals, on August 20th. I got out of the water after the 100 Backstroke, didn't warm down, and with no fanfare drove out of the central California town of Fresno with chlorine water still dripping from my head and a pretty darn good career behind me. I did not know that my fitness would be a roller coaster ride for the next fifteen years.

Burnt out on chasing the black line in the pool, my work outs switched to the mega gyms of the early 21st Century; yoga pants, meat face beef-cakes, and herds of Turbo Fit queens. Even though I had a new cathedral of narcissism and a journey void of teammates, my eating habits stayed the same post-swimming. It took me nearly two years of bad eating and to make matters worse, there was no metabolic assistance after the internal calorie burner died off in late fall 1998.

The ancient fat cells still celebrate March 2nd, 1999 as the day their minority party took control of my temple. That was the day I became a career man; working 9-5 Monday thru Friday, drinking Jack and Coke by the gallons, with a backer of ranch injected Buffalo wings, and 4th and 5th meals depending on the line at Del Taco at 4:00 a.m. every Saturday and Sunday. I knew things were getting a little Oprah when the only topic of conversation with my Tennessee family was my ballooning weight. So I jumped on a crappy diet and strength plan... wake up early, go to the gym for an hour (using a lifting program from college), and try to eat less of the same crap.

In all honesty, from late May to October 1999 I did a good job of losing a few pounds and gaining a few curves in the arms and chest. Those bastard fat cells had yet to fully inflate the spar tire, so things were pretty stable. Then over a long weekend in October I went out of town, which I got sick from to many "she·nan·i·gans". That week of illness knocked me out of a solid work out schedule, then the days led to weeks, then to months. I had never been the type to be sidetracked. What escaped my mind was the fact for all the years of swimming, a team had been there to make sure days did not turn into years. Then the fat cells won.

Even though I started swimming and working out in the pool later in 2000, I was not committed to really trimming the weight or getting into shape. It was more of maintaining and not letting my waist-line to require me to buy bigger pants. Finance became the saving grace. I did not want to buy more cloths, so I would crash diet and increase cardio to get myself below the "pants button busting" critical mass. 

Then over the winter of 2003, in a great moment of personal vanity, I looked at pictures and realized that if I didn't do something quick, our wedding photos would be immortalizing my defeat. I refused to look fat in my wedding photos! So in January I committed to working out five to six days a week and eating a very aggressive diet until our wedding on June 21st. The day I signed my contract with the gym the scales tipped at a solid 235 pounds. The diet consisted of eating a six inch Subway chicken sub for brunch and the other half in the afternoon, then a fish or chicken dinner in the evening. At the gym, I did :45 minutes to one hour of the stationary bike, plus some pull ups and crunches. In five months I got down to 195 pounds. I was working toward a destination, versus enjoying the journey.

As great as that goal to not be a chunky monkey in print, the destination became the stumbling block to making the change last. In a matter of a year all the weight was back on. Over the next nine years my weight hovered around 220 to 245, with an internal set point of 225 pounds. This included, three Iron Man relays, two master swimming nationals, a half marathon, five months of P90X, 60 days of Insanity, and trash talking challenge by my boy Scot "Easy-E" Eliott to lose weight (which was the birthday of No Fat Jokes Please). All of these silly challenges and activities were easily sidetracked by the fallacy of a destination. There is a neon sign reading "No Vacancies" at that end point, because everyone is there who think this journey has a stopping point.

I have a goal to live to see our country's Tricentennial celebration, which will be four months after my 100th birthday. With that written goal stated, this journey I'm on has just set sail through the waters of the second third of my life. But if I'm cut off short of my goal, it'll still be a lot more fun than dying of one of those self inflicted lifestyle deaths becoming more and more popular. Anybody up for taking a trip to Philadelphia in 2076?

Week Eleven: Shutting off the mind!

I might be stating the obvious for those familar with geography, but to those who know not, it is important to note that Jaron is 425 miles away from my gym. Prior to our seminal porch conversation on July 10th of this year, I had the belief that a successful trainer needed to be all up in my grill like a rabid drill sargent with a small man complex. Now entering the third month of the challenge, and more importantly, the third month of the rest of my healthy life... I can preach that having a trainer next to me is not needed. Accuality, with a full work load, five days of swimming, three kids, a beautiful wife, and a dogmatic writing addiction -- having a trainer in town would hurt my progress. We would have a difficult time cordinating our schuldes. I put my six day work out week down mentally on Sunday, and by Saturday all of the planned eight our nine workouts have been "gotten'dun." However, there is not a week that I don't have to call a mid flow Peyton Manning audible. I would never want to screw with a trainers valuable money-making time, even if my trainer is a long time friend who would love to be in town dropping smackdowns on me.

If you ever decide to take on a life changing exercise program, and can come to the table with the simple dedication to do the work, I highly recommend you speak with Jaron Krause. He is no snake-oil, infomercial, get fit "without doing a thing" type of guy. He calls "bull-stuff" (in honor of our dear vice president Joe B) on any gemmick that tries to sell people on cutting corners to getting in shape and living a better life. Heck, Jaron is a dealer in the wonderful acronym, "K.I.S.S." and a mad genius workout tactioner. I just walk into the gym, take out my handy workout sheet, and go until I'm done. No need to think. No need to be motivated. No need to have music playing. No need for team mates pushing me. That damn little piece of paper has the number of reps, the amount of interval, and the rest is just breathing in and out.

This doesn't mean I am not a fan of home workout programs like P90X or Insanity (I have done both, and I believe Shawn and Tony gave me a touch of PTSD). But having a guy like Jaron to write specific and targetted workouts is light years above these programs. It is worth every dollar I would've paid Jaron if he wasn't indebted to me for that thing, in that town, with those midget circus freaks... I still can't get the smell of cabbage out of my favorit fedora.

    

Week Ten: 25 no mo!

If Jaron's theory is correct, I should be able to strap a 25 pound plate to my body and do the early workouts he lined out from the early weeks, now that I've shed 25 pounds of gut butter. That seems like a little stretch for me right now since this past week, and the ones to come, are endurance focused. Higher reps, lower recovery, and added weights... those freaking bicep curl 21's (7 full motion, 7 lower half, 7 upper half). This phase is really exciting because the strength workout shoots the heart rate up, giving me an opportunity to have three cardio workouts on my double days with swimming.

My fitness level is the best it has been in my thirty-somethings, and possible a distant second to my collegiate swimming years. However, the biggest difference to my earlier years has to be the time it takes me to get going. Just this past Wednesday morning the master's coach gave us 6x400 yard freestyle swims on a descending goal. The last two, (over a mile into the set) felt drastically better than the first four. Where I would typically fall about on a set like this in the past, I was able to push myself through the 400, which is like a runner repeating mile runs. With a strong back half my final 400 was 4:24. It is not surprising that warm ups are longer and my best sets in the pool or best running laps come at the later end of workouts. Learning patients thru a traditional weight loss program; who would've thought?!?!

Weekly weigh in: 206.8
Lbs dropped since last weigh-in: 5.0
To hit 195: 11.8
Weeks to go: 6

Week Nine: Challenge #2... "20!"

Shortly after Jaron and I agreed to undertake our various roles in order to accomplish Destination 195, he mentioned an interesting pushup challenge set that consisted of a bunch of them in a short amount of time. While sitting on my lovely couch watching the Food Channel and stuffing my face with the last of my food vices prior to the start of week one, Jaron sent me a cryptic text, "20!" At first I thought he was calling the number of Running Rebel wins in the month of January or his 50 yard freestyle time if he ever came out of retirement.

Having known Jaron for nearly twenty years I have never seen him get really excited; he is kinda like a really hip and suave Stewie Griffin. He is not the type of man to throw around exclamation marks all willy-nilly in a text. "Dude... what's the '!' about?" He simply wrote back, "fractional."

Not being a man of strong math skills I had to consult the mystical portal known as Google to find out what fractional meant. Some nice math teacher in the great homeland probably attempted to educate me on fractional numbering, but I was more a PE and lunch type of student in those wonder years. The oracle of all things information stated that a fractional numbering of 20 is: 20-19-18-17-etc. That would be 20 pushups, rest :30 seconds, then 19 pushups, rest :30 seconds, so-on and so-forth until I've hit 1. If your playing along at home, that is 210 pushups in less than 30 minutes.

This morning at 6:00 a.m. I lined up a stop watch and got going on my "20! PUSHUPS" challenge. 25 minutes later I finished the challenge... To make sure I wasn't just on an adrenalin high from getting down to the last 3, 2, and 1, I busted out another 20 to grow on. It felt great to leave the gym without a brain aneurysm, no spaghetti arms, or violent convulsions. With the dawn morning sun to my back and the great Spring Mountains to my bow, I recalled another text Jaron sent me as we set up this challenge. "If you want to get stupid," short-hand for challenging yourself to the limits of your ability, "you should go back up." That would be 420 pushups in less than an hour... WTFreak!!!

So next month, somewhere around week 13, I'm going to accomplish the "20! Valley of Death" pushup challeng. In honor of Jaron's fallen comrade, this workout was dedicated to Sydney.

Week Seven & Eight: War of Attrition

Sometimes a goose egg in the pounds lost column is a major win.

Going into week seven I knew there would be a major pause for the cause at the end of that week; a minor medical procedure. The doctor said to ensure the healing process I should avoid working out for five days. Uggh!

From September 21 until September 27 I had to rely on my diet to keep on task. During that period of five days there were a few spot-on 1800 calorie days, but there were also two 2400 calorie days too. This was not my first rodeo on having mid-season work stoppages during a trip down to the sub-200s. Unlike the other times though, I know my workout plan would need to be sharp and dialed-in coming off of the five day lock out. The first day back was only to test the waters... literally! I swam a nice 3000 meter long course work out, but knew my body needed me to ease back on the crazy hard stuff. The weight work outs were solid, which gave me the confidence to run the 20 minutes needed for each of the three remaining strength days of week eight.

With the weekly weigh in a zero loss, I was very happy that my mind took it as a win.

Weekly weigh in: 211.8
Lbs dropped this week: 0.0
To hit 195: 16.8
Weeks to go: 8

Week Six: Dropped the Double Deuce

 

Dropping twenty pounds in the fifth official week of this journey is a huge milestone for me. It's great to fit into clothing that has been a pipe dream for so long. Its great to have the wife say, "DAAAMN! You be looking good honey!" when I take off my shirt. Its great to have a wealth of energy to pull from when my sweet pea Jovi Ann wakes me up at 3:00am and I'm scheduled to leave for the pool at 4:00am. To maximize the energy that is on reserve I have also been living and dying by the plan Krause set in motion six weeks ago. From the simple five to six meals per day to the exact weights and running I'm going to do per week have afforded me the luxury of not having to think about what needs to be done... Shut the brain off and just follow the plan!

 

Krause lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, which is roughly a six hour drive from Las Vegas, (4-1/2 if you want to roll the 100mph dice on I-15). When he is discussing work-out options with prospective clients, he uses this analogy for the fence sitters: Let's race to Nelson, Nevada (a small desert town on the banks of Lake Mojave) from your house along the Salt Lake valley. We'll see who gets there first. But you can't use GPS, Google Maps, or any kind of map. That is what I was doing ever time I set out on my journey toward Destination 195. No freaking GPS! Without a plan that weight goal might as well been a needle buried behind Nelson's abandoned service station, and my metal detector's batteries are dead.

 

Here is what I have been doing for the past five weeks (minus the week my dear baby girl was born) to drop the weight. Remember this is just the stretching of the rubber band, the actual long term life change happens January 1st for six to nine months as my internal set point truly becomes 195.

 

1800 calorie meal plan

Breakfast~ Smoothie or cereal

3-hour snack ~ orange or nuts and raisins

Lunch ~ 6 inch Subway chicken or Club

3-hour snack ~ fruit

Dinner ~ grilled chicken, brown rice and veggies

 

*I attempt to not eat after 7:30, which is 3 hours before I sleep

*Tons of ice water

 

Work out plan

MWF ~ 1 hour swim (3200 - 3400 yards)

T&R ~ 1.5 hour swim (4000 - 5300 yards)

4x per week

Weights and 20 minute run



Week Five: Baby weight?

What a wild week five; temptations at every turn during the three day weekend to celebrate the blue collar workers. Then a half day at work on Tuesday, which my schedule did not permit a lovely 4500 yard swim. Then I was off the balance of the week, spending my waking and semi-conscious hours at Valley Hospital. I was shocked at how good hospital food can be when our insurance company was picking up the bill... Looove taking them health benefits on a joy ride. Today's workout was a compilation of back/bicep/core because of all the craziness. Also, did I mention, Valerie gave birth to our third child on Wednesday.

All in all this was the least amount of cardio I have done since beginning the journey; 60 minutes in total. When taking into account for my regular swimming workouts (4-5 per week) and my 20 minutes on the treadmill every strength day, I am regularly doing seven to eight hours of cardio per week. I knew Jovi's birth would pose an obstacle for Destination 1995, which could only be managed by the number of calories ingested during each hospital day. Looking over the stats from MyFitnessPal, I consumed roughly 2000-2150 calories during the three days we were their. With that said, my weigh in today came as a surprise; down a pound!

Now that I'm approaching the 20 pound mark, which I expect to be hit by week seven's "20! push ups"... Google what the "!" means if you're not a math tech. People are asking me what I'm doing to lose this weight. It is a simple answer every time; burn more, eat less! Of course the conversation gets more detailed with questions on types of food, calorie counting, work out schedule and mix of exercises. However, in the end, it is very easy... limit the calories of crap sucked down the ole pie hole, get your heart rate rocking for twenty or thirty minutes three or four times a week, and enjoy natures greatest combination -- H2O.

Weekly weigh in: 214.5
Lbs dropped this week: 1.0
To hit 195: 19.5
Weeks to go: 12

Week Four: Scheduled Chaos

One thing Krause made clear to me before I started this initial phase of "stretching the rubber band" over sixteen weeks, I had to commit to the training days for the week ahead of time. A great piece of advise! While I swim Monday thru Friday in the A.M. hours -- lifting and running four days a week can be spread out between Monday thru Saturday. There should be no surprise that any given week is a distant relative to prior weeks. The variables of work, a wife, two kids, a side business, and volunteering make for a roulette wheel the size of the London Eye... and my chips are always on double zero. Even with the same DNA an identical week rarely occurs in a row, which makes for proper planning a foundational principal in my goal execution.

Spontaneous life was an idealistic concept forged by the fires of a twenty-something existence; enjoyed because it broke up the mind numbing pattern of wake, work, relax, sleep, repeat. Now my fragile state of structural constraints that seems to be on the verge of going super nova at the slightest hint of a child's major illness, rat faced clients ripping bonuses out of my wallet, or mixing up the pot by adding a third child, avoids randomness like a gasoline sneeze on an open flame. Spontaneity can be my worst enemy during this initial phase of stretching my body's rubber band to the point where I will actually be at the starting line to begin the long race toward truly changing my eating habits and securing the appropriate intake to burn ratio.

Sometimes when life throws you lemons during the day, you have to cop move the produce truck, chastise the driver for allowing a rabid midget to waste good citrus, and then speed off to the gym to beat the rush of six o'clock meat-heads.

Weekly weigh in: 215.4
Lbs dropped this week: 4.0
To hit 195: 20.4
Weeks to go: 13

Week Three: First Challenge

This week did not have a weigh in. I decided to a challenge instead of a Saturday workout... hike to the peak of Mount Charleston; 8.5 miles starting at 7640 feet above sea level to the peak at 11,900 feet.

A few weeks back Robert Avila and I were having lunch to catch up on life. He had forgotten that I asked him in June to make the hike. Even though he'd been running a lot for the December 2011 Las Vegas Half Marathon -- unfortunately, his work life had gotten in the way of his training; so no Robert.

Plan B! My old buddy Dave Schick, also my awesome accountant, has made the climb two other times with me. The last time we set out in 2005 my physical state of being was horrible. Two hours into the hike my heart rate was nearing 200 bpm, so I called an audible at the top of Echo Canyon and turned back (just past the half way point). Note to out of shape desk-jockeys... don't drink an industrial sized Monster Energy drink and then try and hike a 17 mile hellish trek with thirty pounds of fat cells around the gut.

Unfortunately for my adventure this weekend, Dave's roof on his lovely ranch style home nearly got decapitated during the previous week's thunderstorms; so no Dave.

Not to be deterred, this would be a solo mission. Knowing that my Saturday work out usually netted me about 400 calories burnt, I needed to be sure a nine hour hike would result in similar caloric burn. So I consulted the great MyFitnessPal app for the estimated output. Taking in account for the time climbing up and the time for descending the mountain, my little app said I would burn 6400 calories... WTHeck!

So when the alarm chimed at 5:00am I had already been up for an hour. The sun crept over the eastern sky at 6:00; I was on the trail at 6:05. 10:50 I touched the peak of the mountain. Surprisingly the trip down produced the most pain, which escalated during the last 2 miles. I even added some more pain to the game because my water estimates were off by two liters. Things get a bit sketchy during the ninth hour of hiking when the H20 is no more. Nevertheless all was good! Made it to the car around 3:30 in the afternoon, bandaged a few blisters, and then drove the 30 miles back to the casa with a big smile for accomplishing week three's challenge.

Temptation's Minions

The greatest things about America and the civilized Western world are constant opportunities to exercise free agency, embrace personal accountability, and determining a path to take in life. These things that I believe make America the numero uno, are also the toughest things to manage. In a world that resembles a free-for-all circus troop hijacked by a herd of self-righteous hipster tweaked out on their own ironic do-goodness, it is hard not to blame another human for nearly every mistake, blunder or vice to inflect an individual.

If I wanted to double fist chili cheese fries and suck them down like
Coca-Cola on a hot summer day, the fine print on the reverse side of the Declaration of Independence gives me the right. However, when my nine month pregnant wife, of nearly a decade, makes a batch of chocolate chip cookies, I wish the communist had won the Cold War. No half starved, thirty something, self-respecting man on a long weight loss journey should be tempted with the siren's song of molten chocolate nuggets snuggled in a lily pad of sweet cookie dough.

 It would be easier living with single ply toilet paper, machine guns nest in Time Square, and nonstop reruns of the first thirty minutes of Rocky IV..."If he dies, he dies"... then to manage the temptation of mama's afternoon snacky treats for the next fifteen weeks. I nearly folded delivering one to my dear aforementioned nine month pregnant wife, but her lightening quick reaction time ripped it out of my diet-busting tractor beam.

May all things holy save me from the minions of temptation.

Week Two: "Food: a friend or a foe?"

Monday marked the beginning of the 16 week structured diet; 1800-2000 calories per day with one reward day of an additional 500 calories. By keeping a detailed record using the free Android app MyFitnessPal I am able to keep track of my meal by meal progress. I like the ease of use and the quick entry of the meal data.

A key factor in making this thing work over the next four months will be resisting "boredom grazing." Avoiding the after work double-stuff Oreo sniper attack before dinner. Thankfully, Jaron has given me a great list of snacks to eat. I can already see a change in my eating habits by adding in a mid-morning and mid-afternoon healthy snack. Instead of hitting the garbage calories of sweets, it was a simple shift to health snacks like nuts, fruit, raisins, craisins, and stringed cheese.

Weekly weigh in: 221.9
Lbs dropped this week: 4.5
Total dropped: 10
To hit 195: 27
Weeks to go: 15

Week One: Test Drive the Weights

The data has been entered into MyFitnessPal via the smart phone and my expert trainer is in his secret layer crunching the stats... I should probably hasthag a few of these key words, one never knows when the Twitter might go big. My Golds Gym membership is in full effect to maximize the pain and discomfort. A discomfort brought on by the under appreciated, yet very important stabiliser muscles. A grown man should have a higher pain tolerance, and avoid screaming like a co-ed in some 1980's slasher movie when attempting to sit down at the dinner table. Top goal for week two: more Icy Hot!

Monday, August 13th begins the 16 week portion control, low carb, no soda having, calorie counting, comfort food sanctions. I will be rocking at the feed bag at 1800-2000 calories per day, with the goal for five days a week dropping 1000 of their friends via the tread mill or in the ole concrete pond, then on Saturday running like I'm Forest Gump. I sure hope the Sabbath is kind to a brother!

Weekly weigh in: 226.4
Lbs dropped this week: 5.5
To hit 195: 31.5
Weeks to go: 16

Well ain't that cute!

My lower half is sore from a baker's dozen lunges. Getting out of bed required a roll, a tumble and a teardrop or two. So this morning's chest workout better bring some serious manliness. I want some bench press, some military press, even a few Superman rows. Anything that requires guttural yelling to psych me up or requires a team of spotters.
You have to be kidding me Krause... a freaking balancing ball! What happened to the days of tossing 45's on the bar and bouncing the whole mess off your chest to get that last rep out.

A FREAKING BALANCING BALL!!!

I'm not going to need a spotter to do 2 sets of 12 push ups on this day glow balancing ball. I'm not going to need the juice-head guerrilla to bro hug me once I nearly blow out brain vein. I'm going to need protective custody once the powder puff's cat calling from the stair master section start questing my man card's expiration date. Seriously! A balancing ball should not be allowed in a man's man gym.

Thankfully it was early morning, only a hand full of patrons saw my buffet of humble pie. That $.55 worth of poorly inflated, Chinese made rubber sphere treated me like a red headed stepchild. If it could have thrown out some trash talk, I might have broken down and cried. There is nothing more embarrassing than seeing a grown man, spaghetti arming women's push ups, sweating like a long-tailed cat at a rocking chair factor, and shaking like seizures on a day glow balancing ball.

May my ego know peace some day.

DESTINATION 195!

There are many trivial things floating in the soup of my life; an undying love for Rebel basketball, writing whimsical articles on trivial things, and silly challenges set forth by an out-of-state trash talking friend. Held separately, each brings me momentary pleasure (extended a few more moments if BYU or Reno are whamped up on by the boys in Scarlet & Grey). When all are bound together in a fierce secret alliance of mediocrity -- It sets in motion a fertile ground of humor and possibly reduced strain on my inseam.

Like all meaningless endeavors, a banner must be flown with serious effort given to a solid mission statement, 6 Sigma optimization, and frizzle dizzle. For the next sixteen weeks... give or take a few holidays, the birth of our third child, and the siren's call of that degenerate spawn of Satan known to western civilization as All-U-Can-Eat sushi, I will fly the flag of DESTINATION 195!

With the help of my dear old Texas brother from another mother, Jaron "JBK" Krause, I will embark on a journey of starvation, caloric depression, and swampy socks slopping through the valley of the land that comfort food forgot.

If I succeed, yours truly and JBK will be attending a Rebel Basketball game, eating at the aforementioned spawn of Satan house of gastric bliss, to celebrate this trivial challenge; hopefully accomplished in full.

Shave 37 pounds in 16 weeks for no reason other than seeing that ditch and double dog daring your buddy to bunny-hop it on his older brother's Schwinn Scrambler with the banana seat.

I love you chocolate covered raisins! I will see you in December... Give my warm regards to the 24 pack of A&W root beer and the 100th year commemorative bag of Golden Oreo Fudge Covered Cookies with Birthday Cake Creme.